


I Never Dreamed That I'd Love Somebody Like You (The Wicked Game Remix)

by elrhiarhodan



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barry Allen/Cisco Ramon (unrequited), Barry Allen/Iris West (unrequited) - Freeform, Cisco Ramon & Caitlin Snow - Freeform, Consensual Sex, Eobarry, Harrison Wells Doesn't Lie to Barry Allen, Kissing, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Sex Toys, Virgin Barry, barrison, non-con fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a quiet Saturday afternoon and Barry and Harrison Wells share a congenial lunch - and not at Big Belly Burger.  As they are leaving, they find themselves trapped by hundreds of very happy people, and a meta-human intent on causing mischief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Dreamed That I'd Love Somebody Like You (The Wicked Game Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancesontrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancesontrains/gifts).
  * Inspired by [All That Glitters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592737) by [dancesontrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancesontrains/pseuds/dancesontrains). 



> If you've read the original, this is essentially a sex pollen story and there are - of course - always the questions of consent that come with such themes. Like the original fic, the consent issues are addressed within the context of this story, albeit quite differently. 
> 
> Set sometime after S1.11 - The Sound and the Fury.
> 
> Many thanks to my cheerleader in chief and beta reader, Kyele, for all of her encouragement and sound advice.

"Mr. Allen?" Harrison Wells rolls into the Cortex, looks around and takes note of the otherwise deserted facility. "Are you the only one left?"

Barry shrugs, "Yeah. Cisco and Caitlin both left for the day. Cisco said something about his nonna's birthday and that his mother would kill him if he missed the lunch. He asked Caitlin to go with him as his date." Barry frowned, and then said, "Something about keeping his brother off his back and calling him a loser."

Harrison nods, all too familiar with the Ramon family dynamics. "That's right, Cisco did mention that the other day. But I have to ask, why are you here on lovely Saturday afternoon?"

Barry gave him a diffident smile. "Because I can't think of any place better to be. Joe's doing a consult for the Opal City PD, and while I could have gone with him, the thought of spending six hours in the car, listening to the greatest hits of the 1980s was a deal killer. I figured I'd put in a few hours on the treadmill and work on my speed, if that's okay with you."

"I can't think of any reason to object." Harrison smiles and leans back in his chair. "Still trying to break Mach-Two?"

"Yeah. I'm getting close, but I'm not there, yet. I ran some calculations on the speed of the Man in Yellow, and he's able to run at least Mach-Two-point-five. If I don't get faster, I'll never be able to catch him."

Harrison – or rather, Eobard Thawne although no one knows that yet – comments, "Hmm, over nineteen hundred miles an hour. That is … impressive." He holds back a small sigh. Once upon a time, almost two centuries in the future, he could run twice that fast. No need to tell Barry that.

He follows Barry into the treadmill room and enjoys watching him, though the time dilation, as he changes out of his street clothes into the ubiquitous S.T.A.R. Labs shorts and nothing else. The boy is beautiful, far more than he'd ever expected. The Flash that he encounters in the twenty-second century is a muscle-bound freak and not to his taste at all. This Barry Allen is lean and graceful as a coursing hound, and to employ the cliché, poetry in motion.

Over the past few months, Harrison has entertained many fantasies about Barry Allen. Most of them are utterly outrageous and when he's finished pleasuring himself and takes stock of the fantasy, he's slightly – only slightly – appalled. Violent fantasies of fucking Barry while wearing the Reverse-Flash's cowl – to hide his identity, taking him dry and unwilling, making him scream, while he exacts his revenge for all the crimes that the Flash – the Flash of the future – has yet to commit against him

As Barry runs on the treadmill, a blur of yellow lightning, Harrison shifts ever so slightly in his wheelchair to accommodate a slight erection. He deliberately changes the direction of his thoughts – this is not the time nor the place to indulge himself.

Barry runs, and the first sonic boom is vented up and out as he easily breaks Mach-One. The residual change in air pressure rocks Harrison back in his chair and he smiles. Barry ups his pace and reaches a thousand miles an hour, maintaining that speed for a solid twenty minutes. Harrison is more than pleased at Barry's endurance and suggests through the comm link that he try for more speed. Barry doesn't reply – and that's something they will need to work on. His ability to communicate at higher speeds will become crucial in the months to come. For now, however, Harrison wants Barry to maximize his output.

Barry follows Harrison's instructions and he steadily gets faster. Soon enough, there is another sonic boom and Barry has achieved his goal. He tops out at sixteen hundred fifty-four miles an hour before he starts slowing down, turning from a ball of stationary lightning back to a shirtless young man, gleaming with sweat.

Barry hops down from the treadmill. Harrison meets him halfway and hands him a towel. "Very good, Mr. Allen."

"Thanks. How did I do?"

Harrison gives him the good news and quickly runs through some of his biometric statistics. "Of course, Doctor Snow will have more information once she breaks down all of the data, but all in all, a very impressive afternoon."

Barry wipes the sweat off his torso and Harrison watches the towel as it travels across his skin, snagging just slightly against a perky nipple, then down to his navel. Harrison reminds again himself that this is not the time or place for such thoughts and forces his gaze up to Barry's face.

Barry doesn't look … happy.

"What's the matter, Mr. Allen?" He's surprised that Barry's not more thrilled at this milestone.

"Nothing." Barry drapes the towel over his shoulder. "I'm going to shower, will be back in a few."

Harrison watches Barry scoop up his clothes and zip off, and wonders what's bothering the boy. True to his word, he's back in two minutes, hair damp and freshly shaved. But still looking a little down.

"Barry, we are friends, right?"

"Of course, Doctor Wells." Barry's dropped into a chair and spins around. "What's the matter?"

"I was just going to ask you that, again. You seem down and that's not something I'm … accustomed from you."

Barry smiles, but it's a little half-hearted. "Really, it's nothing."

Harrison does a mental check of the calendar. There's no approaching anniversary in Barry Allen's timeline of miserable events – not his mother's death, not his father's conviction – to give him this slightly depressed air. He knows that Barry made a recent visit to Iron Heights, and he even has a transcript of that all-too-touching conversation between father and son. 

Perhaps his melancholy has to with his unrequited passion for Iris West. That's a button he likes to press, if just to get Barry to see how unworthy she is of him.

So he presses. "Tell me, what's going on?"

Barry lets out a sigh. "It's Cisco."

Now Harrison is truly surprised. "Cisco?"

"He didn't even think of asking me to go with him to his grandmother's birthday lunch. I would have been happy to go with him and tell his family just how wonderful and amazing he is. Because he is. Wonderful and beautiful and perfect." 

This is a new and rather interesting development. One that Harrison's not sure he likes. "I wasn't aware you had romantic feelings for our Cisco." He uses the collective "our" deliberately.

Barry flushes bright red. "It's not like that. We're bros – and bros support each other. We help each other out." Barry shrugs again. "And you're right – going with Cisco to a family event would probably make more trouble for Cisco than it's worth."

Harrison doesn't recall saying anything of the sort. But that's quite all right, it seems that while Barry does have some feelings for Cisco, they are not all that well formed. Which suits Harrison just fine.

"You must be hungry."

Barry lets out a bark of laughter. "Of course I am." He reaches for the phone, probably to call in a massive delivery from Big Belly Burger. 

Harrison short-circuits that. "How about we go out to eat? It's a lovely day – not the kind to be spent cooped up indoors."

Barry gives him a surprised look. 

It's Harrison's turn to shrug. "And I do have to admit to an ulterior motive. I'd like to get some fresh air. If we're together, I'm less likely to get spat upon."

"People do that?" Barry's shocked and clearly hurt on his behalf.

"It has happened on occasion. Seventeen people died, Barry. Died because of my arrogance." Harrison lets out a tiny, mournful sigh and manages to look sad and remorseful. 

"Well, if anyone does anything – "

Harrison holds up a hand. "You'll do nothing, Barry. I can take whatever is dished out. But – " He tilts his head and pulls off his glasses, "like I said, if I'm with someone, someone who was injured by my actions, then perhaps I won't be subject to such overt disdain."

Barry nods. "Okay." And then his stomach rumbles. "Yes, lunch would be good. Where would you like to go?"

"There's a new gastro-pub at Watkins Plaza that we could try. The food is good, and more relevant for your needs, plentiful. It's near my apartment." Harrison sends that piece of information into the air like a fly ball.

And Barry catches it like an All-Star. "Apartment?" 

"Yes. I have a condo in a high-rise in Westminster, on the edge of University Town. It's convenient for the nights when I don't want to travel all the way back to my house."

Barry's puzzled. "Then why did you have to stay at a hotel after Hartley Rathaway caused all that damage?"

Harrison anticipated this question. "Because my apartment was in the middle of renovations. It wasn't wheelchair accessible and having the changes made took a lot time. Needed board approval, permits, more approvals, and frankly, it wasn't a priority. But the work was finished a few weeks ago, and I've been living there for a while. It's taking far too long to get all that glass replaced at the house."

Harrison reaches into one of the desks and pulls out a set of car keys, tossing them to Barry. "Would you mind driving? We can park at my condo and walk – or should I say, walk and roll to the restaurant."

Barry's smile is once again sunny as he catches them. "Not at all."

They aren't in the van for five minutes and Harrison can see just how much Barry hates being in a car, his impatience with the traffic and the rules of the road. Harrison shares that impatience, but he's learned, over the past fifteen years, to curb it, to mask it, to simply deal with it. _God grant me the serenity to accept ..._ Harrison laughs, he's the last person who should be reciting the Serenity Prayer.

Barry notices his amusement. "What's so funny?"

"Just thinking about how obvious it is that you hate traffic, Mr. Allen." Harrison doesn't lie – not to Barry – unless he can't avoid it. Deflection and misdirection are frequently deployed tools, but he rarely outright lies. That's not playing fair.

"Yeah, I always did." Barry maneuvers the van along a side street. "It's worse now that I rarely need to drive anywhere and I don't have to worry about red lights and one-way streets."

Harrison directs him to a glossy high-rise with an underground garage. Ten minutes later, they are heading through a crowded plaza towards the promised gastro-pub.

Lunch is a pleasant affair. The burgers are good and the waiter managers not to look completely startled when Barry orders and polishes off six, each complete with fries. Harrison keeps the conversation flowing – ranging from movies that Cisco has suggested they watch, to the news out of CERN about the proof of the Higgs boson and what that means for their understanding of the origins of the universe.

Barry gives him a look – something between surprise and a smirk. "I'm kind of surprised you'd even bring that up."

"Why, because that accelerator didn't blow up and create a rather unnatural disaster?" Harrison smirks back. He can't help himself. "Progress, Mr. Allen, is important, no matter where it comes from."

Barry does look chastened. But not so chastened that he passes on dessert. Harrison has a glass of Scotch – a fairly decent single malt – that pairs surprisingly well with the brownie sundae that Barry lets him taste.

As they leave the restaurant, Harrison – in the mood to torture himself – casually suggests going up to his apartment, rather than back to S.T.A.R. Labs. A movie, perhaps – certainly more enjoyable to watch on a large screen while relaxing on a comfortable couch, instead of seated in a desk chair in the Cortex. 

Barry doesn't seem to think twice about accepting the offer and they head back through the plaza towards Harrison's condominium building. Except they don't make it very far. Their path is block by dozens of people milling around in distraction, bumping into walls and planters and other people, their eyes unfocused, but everyone's wearing happy smiles.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Doctor Wells." 

Harrison shares that trepidation. "I agree, and I think a strategic retreat is in order." He turns his wheelchair around to go towards the back of the plaza, around the buildings that ring the space. But there are too many people to navigate safely – and these people seem a little more distressed than the crowd they'd just passed.

Barry tries to protect him, forging a path and he's clearly struggling not to use his speed. "I'll take you back to your apartment and then come back to see what's going on."

"No, Mr. Allen, you won't. Remember, you don't have a backup team. If something goes wrong, I won't be able to help you."

"I'll be fine. No one's screaming. In fact, I'd say everyone's kind of blissed out."

Harrison knows that he can't restrain Barry – but he can and does counsel caution. But that counsel is pointless when they come face to face with the cause of all this chaos.

A tall woman, almost as tall as Barry, with rich mahogany skin and hair woven into a myriad of dreadlocks, blocks their way. Her eyes are glowing with purple fire and she laughs and breathes out a mass of golden dust.

Harrison rolls back and out of the way as Barry – foolish boy – steps forward to protect him. And for his pains, he takes a face full of whatever the woman was exhaling. Barry doubles over, coughing, and Harrison is a heartbeat from breaking his cover and rushing Barry out of danger. He's immediately reminded of Barry's encounter with Kyle Nimbus – the Mist – and fears for the boy's life.

The woman laughs again, and Harrison gets a face-full of that golden dust, too. He covers his mouth and tries not to breathe in, but the particles are everywhere – in his nostrils, his eyes, his ears, on his fingers, and as he removes his hand and starts to choke, he inhales it.

And the world is … wonderful.

Barry is there, shining in the late afternoon light like an angel. Harrison's about to stand but he remembers that no, this is not something he's supposed to do. He smiles instead, and reaches out for Barry's hand, catching the warm flesh. His heart races and his soul sings and he can't stop the words. "You are so beautiful. Do you know that, Barry Allen? Do you know how beautiful you are to me?"

Barry licks his lips and Harrison can see the lightning in his eyes. "You are beautiful, too, Harrison Wells. And I want you so much it scares me. I've wanted to tell you that since I first saw you." 

_Scares me._ Harrison is immediately and massively aroused at that simple statement. From the corner of his eye he sees two women kissing each other, one has her hand under the other woman's skirt, fingers sliding between her companion's legs in prelude to sex. Harrison wants that too – sex, with Barry, only with Barry.

But the part of his brain that isn't affected by whatever that meta-human did to them cautions restraint. And that public sex is _not_ something he enjoys and it is certainly not how he wants to take Barry this first time. The remnants of his control barely reined in, Harrison manages to guide Barry back to his apartment.

Barry doesn't let go of his hand as they travel the short distance. At a crosswalk, Barry runs his fingers through Harrison's hair and giggles as he dislodges his glasses. Harrison takes them off. It's not like he needs them. What he does need are Barry's fingers in his hair. He likes that.

But not on the sidewalk, where everyone can see.

Harrison doesn't quite remember the rest of the journey to his apartment. They go in through a private entrance, up to the twenty-eighth floor via his private elevator, and he backs Barry towards the master suite. 

Barry, for his part, is pulling off his clothes. His jacket lands at the doorway, then his sweater, and finally his tee shirt. Harrison – not for the first time – wonders why the boy wears so many layers. 

Barry's face is gilded by the dust; it tips his eyelashes, his cheeks, his lips and when Barry licks them, Harrison has a hard time stifling a moan.

"Does it taste good?" 

Barry nods and holds out a hand, also coated with the substance. Harrison lifts it to his mouth and licks Barry's thumb. A most delicious flavor coats his tongue, and yet it's nothing more exotic than the taste of Barry's skin.

Harrison doesn't release Barry's thumb, wrapping his tongue around it, sucking on it, playing with it like he wants to play with another appendage. Barry moans, whispers, "Harrison" and Harrison rolls forward, pushing Barry back, back against the door to his bedroom. Barry manages, with his other hand, to open the door. It's a delicate and graceful dance, until Barry's backed up against the bed.

Harrison licks his own lips and ingests some more of the gold dust. He's hot, his skin feels like it's ready to burn off. It's like he's just turned himself into a speedster and all he wants to do is run.

 _No, not run._ All he wants to do is fuck Barry Allen.

He reaches out again for Barry and grabs his hips. Harrison nuzzles his face against Barry's crotch, loving the heat and mass he finds there, the fast and steady pulse of life, of lust, under his cheek.

Barry's hands thread through his hair, his nails scrape his scalp and Harrison moans. He can't stop himself, it feels so good and perfect. His mouth is now open over Barry's cloth-covered cock, and he feels it leap.

He wants Barry, he wants flesh and sweat and skin. He needs all the contact he can get and he starts to fumble with Barry's belt, but his hands are shaking. It's taking too damn long.

"Harrison, please …" Barry's whining. "I need to feel you, I need to touch you." 

Harrison stops struggling and pushes Barry back. "Get the rest of your clothes off." His voice is harsh in its command.

Barry obeys and he's naked faster than Harrison can see through the time dilation. Somehow, Harrison manages to keep enough sanity through this flood tide of lust _not_ to get out of the chair. He pulls off his sweater and the cool air on his overheated skin is a caress in and of itself.

"Help me." He holds out his arms to Barry, and Barry lifts him onto the bed and he's naked, too. Barry is poised above him, a god, an angel, all of his dreams and his demons in glorious golden flesh.

"I need to touch you. Please, please, please." Barry is holding himself over Harrison with one strong arm, the other is stroking his cock.

Harrison reached out, to the nightstand. "Lube – get some lube." 

Barry gasps and grins. And obeys. He pulls out a bottle of slick and to Harrison's slight embarrassment – a bright red band of silicone is caught around the bottle's neck. Barry frees it and his smile gets even brighter. "Ooooh, you use this on yourself?"

Harrison nods. While he still has parts of a speedster's metabolism – and a near non-existent refractory period is included in that package – he's learned to appreciate delayed gratification. He can see that Barry, however, is drawing a different conclusion: that this might be something a man in a wheelchair might need to retain an erection.

He doesn't bother to correct the impression. 

Barry asks, "Do you want me to put it on you?"

Harrison shakes his head. "No – put it on yourself."

Barry bites his lip and his pupils are dilated with desire. Harrison heart races even harder at the thought of Barry wearing _his_ sex toy.

Barry sits back on his haunches, his cock and balls fully on display between his spread thighs. Harrison's seen it, of course. Barry spent nearly nine months in his care, quiescent, comatose. And Harrison's had the benefit of a speedster's ability to see through the time dilation. While Barry rarely gets fully naked during the change from street clothes to suit and back again, there have been a few memorable occasions when he has. Harrison has certainly enjoyed those moments.

But he's never seen Barry aroused until now. And it is quite the sight. Barry's cock is like the rest of his body, long and lean, and in its tumescent state, a hefty handful. Not extremely thick, but long and meaty, not all that dissimilar to Harrison's own.

He watches Barry fit his cock and balls through the silicone ring. It's a fairly basic toy but he appreciates the aesthetics of the bright red band around Barry's genitals. He wishes he has one in yellow and black – the Reverse's colors – but he doesn't. Well, that is what the Internet is for, isn't it?

Barry's holding the lube now and looking a little perturbed. Harrison would do anything to wipe that expression from the boy's face. "What's the matter?"

"I want to suck you. This tastes nasty, though."

"Then suck me first and then …"

Barry doesn't wait for Harrison to finish the thought. He dives down and swallows Harrison whole. The gold dust from Barry's face is now smeared on Harrison's thighs, his groin, his balls and every sensation is magnified.

Barry sucks cock like he runs: fast and perfect. Harrison wonders where he learned this skill and then he doesn't wonder at all as one of Barry's very clever fingers traces a path from his balls, down his perineum, to his anus. Barry is delicately vibrating as he's fingering him. It's not enough and it's also too much, especially as Barry's throat vibrates.

Harrison comes with a shout and he prays that Barry doesn't notice how his hips rise off the mattress.

Barry looks up, eyes unfocused, Harrison's semen staining his lips. Harrison thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He reaches out and pulls Barry into his arms. Harrison kisses his own come off of Barry's lips. This is not something he'd done before and he wonders why he hasn't, because it's delicious. He kisses Barry, his tongue invading, searching, licking and stroking.

Barry is now a creature of sensation, and he's desperately rutting against him, whining into Harrison's mouth as he tries to come but can't because of that infernal ring. 

Harrison laughs and bites Barry's lips. Barry cries out and Harrison bites him again. Barry bucks against him, his cock is sliding against Harrison's and their skin is sticky. This is an unpleasant sensation and Harrison reaches for the discarded bottle of lube. They both fumble for it and manage to slick themselves up. Harrison's erect again – his cock feels like it is a separate entity, a creature with a life and a will of its own. 

He lets Barry take the lead; it's easier to maintain the pretense that way. Barry wraps both of his hands around their cocks and strokes them. The sensation is indescribable – palms and fingers and cock all at once.

Barry's whining and vibrating and crying into Harrison's neck – he'd taken more of the dust and his reactions are deeper, more intense. He's unthinking in his quest for pleasure, for completion, and Harrison realizes that the ring around his cock is torture. In the haze of pleasure, he's reminded of his fantasies – of tormenting and torturing the Flash – and in that moment, he knows that they are all _wrong_. 

The Barry who is so desperately rutting against him isn't the Flash of the future, he's not Harrison's – no, Eobard's – great enemy, not someone to be feared and loathed. Barry is … Barry. A creature of love and delight and endless courage. Someone to be nurtured and protected, even as he puts himself in harm's way. Harrison remembers all the times that Barry's protected him, defended him – even this afternoon – when he stepped between him and the meta intent on causing mischief.

That is something that should be honored.

He stills Barry with an iron grip on the boy's hips. "Barry – "

"Harrison, please…" Those syllables are dragged out and Harrison wishes for the impossible, that he could flip Barry over and take him, slowly, exquisitely, that he could teach him everything about pleasure (and even a bit about pain). He's never hated this masquerade more than he does right now.

He can't even pretend to be the Reverse-Flash, bursting into the room and doing everything that Harrison Wells can't. Even if he could somehow engineer a plausible scenario for the Man in Yellow's appearance, it not a trauma he wants to inflict on Barry. It's sufficed for a fantasy when he's alone with his hand, but not now. _Maybe not anymore._

Barry struggles in his grip, he's pleading and crying for completion. 

Harrison manages to get Barry into an upright position, straddling his hips. He shakes Barry, to get his attention through the haze of lust. "Have you ever been fucked before, Barry Allen?"

Harrison knows just what his voice – the sternness, the tone of command – does to Barry. It gets the best of him and the best out of him. Harrison rarely hesitates to use it.

Barry's eyes snap open and they are filled with lightning. The boy rocks back against his cock, but doesn't answer. 

Harrison caresses Barry's flank, nails scraping lightly through the perspiration that's accumulated on his flesh. "Mr. Allen, I asked you a question and I expect an answer. You've sucked cock before, but have you ever been fucked?"

Barry looks at him, tears in his eyes. "Please, please, please…"

"Why won't you answer me?" Harrison feels the sting of sweat as it drips into his eyes, the golden dust burning for a heartbeat before it's absorbed into his tissues. Desire and need cloud his reason, but he fights for some kind of control. "Barry, answer me."

"If I tell you the truth, you won't …" Barry's whining, sobbing in anticipated disappointment.

"I won't, what?" Harrison thinks he knows what Barry's trying to tell him.

"You won't want me." Barry is exquisite in his misery, tears drawing paths through gold on his cheeks.

"Ahhh, Mr. Allen. I will always want you." The reassurance falls so easily from Harrison's lips. It's never a lie. "Now, tell me. Have you been fucked?" 

Barry shakes his head. "No." He looks at Harrison with lightning filled eyes from under gold-tipped lashes. 

Harrison smiles. It feels wolfish. "Good."

"Really?" Barry's breath catches and he rears back, and the sensation of his buttocks against Harrison's hot cock is indescribably delicious. 

"Yes, really. There is a very special pleasure in being the first." Harrison's still curious as to where Barry leaned to suck cock, but that's a mystery for another day.

Barry bends over and kisses him. Then he does his best to break Harrison's heart, and Eobard Thawne's, too. "What about first and last and always?"

Harrison strokes Barry's cheek, smearing the gold dust. "If that is what you want, then that is what you shall have, Barry Allen."

He can feel Barry trembling, or maybe it's him. Barry kisses his palm, and says with a devastating lack of self-preservation, "I want you to fuck me. I want you to make love to me."

 _Love._ That word is too freighted, too powerful. He needs to escape all of the emotions it engenders, so Harrison takes refuge in practicality. "I don't think we need condoms – there's no illness in your blood, and nothing in mine that could affect you."

Barry nods. "Okay, tell me what you want me to do."

He pushes himself upright, into a seated position and has Barry turn around. The bottle of lube is still within reach and he's generous with it. He'd like to use his own powers. He'd like to bring Barry to unbearably levels of pleasure as the Reverse-Flash – to exercise his mastery over the Flash, not through fear and violence, but with pure desire. To bring the Flash to his knees, and keep him there, to make the Flash addicted to his touch – only _his_ touch.

But he doesn't – not now. Not here. There's still too much at stake, and Harrison's not willing (not yet) to give up his endgame, no matter how enticing Barry Allen is.

A whimper brings Harrison back to the here and now, and Barry's suffering so beautifully. Which should be rewarded.

He smacks Barry's ass, just hard enough to leave a red palm print on the right buttock. Barry moans and rocks back. Harrison doesn't resist the invitation and he bites the left cheek. Barry's right – that lube does taste nasty. But the slight pain he's inflicted serves a purpose. Barry's more relaxed now, and Harrison starts the real work (not that it's really _work_ ) of prepping Barry for penetration.

They have time and privacy and Harrison makes the most of it. He teases Barry, ghosting a single finger around his rim, making him whine. 

_"Morepleaseohpleaseohplease…"_ And the boy is vibrating so much he's practically a blur and the lightning in his eyes has escaped and is now sparking off his skin.

"Be still, Mr. Allen." The formality of the command is effective and Barry stops. But Harrison can tell that Barry's obedience is not going to last long. So Harrison's efficient as he stops teasing and breaches the boy, one long, slender finger followed by a second. Barry's erection flags for the first time – this is not the type of pain the boy seems to like – but Harrison makes it better for him. He reaches around and begins stroking Barry's cock. He keeps the rhythm slow and steady and in syncopation to the thrusts of his fingers. 

Barry's hard again, and he's almost ready for him. Almost.

Harrison flicks the edge of his thumbnail against Barry's frenum and as Barry bucks at that tiny bit of pain, Harrison introduces a third finger into Barry's body, carefully scissoring the tight muscle ring. The more work he does now, the more pleasure Barry will have when he's fully penetrated.

And Barry seems to like it. The hand Harrison has around Barry's cock is flooded with pre-come. It's pouring out of Barry despite the cock ring. Harrison isn't surprised.

He pulls his fingers free and reaches for the lube, drizzling in down Barry's crack and working it into his ass. Whatever the future holds, in this moment, the last thing Harrison wants is to cause Barry pain.

"Turn around." 

Barry's as graceful as a ballet dancer. In fact, with the streaks of gold decorating his face and hair, and now his torso, he reminds Harrison of Nijinsky in _Afternoon of a Faun_. But all thoughts of classical culture evaporate when Barry drags a hand across his own chest and starts to pluck at a nipple. 

Harrison catches Barry's gaze and the boy is blissed out, pupils blown and there is a very tiny part of him that frets – just for a pico-second – about whether Barry really knows what he's doing.

And then Harrison decides he doesn't care. Or maybe he does. He asks Barry, just to be certain, "Do you want to do this?"

Barry leans over and kisses him and it feels like it's been a century since they kissed. Harrison licks the gold dust off of Barry's cheek and lust and desire and happiness are bubbling like fine champagne in his blood. Barry snags Harrison's lower lip between his teeth and bites down very carefully. This is the first time Barry's deliberately inflicted pain on him, and Harrison decides that he likes it. That this might be something they could explore in the future. Under very controlled circumstances.

"Barry – "

Barry breathes in and out and gazes down at him. "Yes, Harrison?"

"You must tell me you want this. I need to hear it. I want you to tell me again. Exactly what you want."

Barry's smiling. "I want you to fuck me, Harrison Wells. I want you to – " Barry bites his lip and a red tide of embarrassed heat rises from his navel to his scalp.

Harrison wants to hear the words – explicit and filthy – from Barry's lips. He strokes Barry's cock, a light and teasing touch, and it leaps in his hand. "Tell me, Mr. Allen."

Barry starts to vibrate again and Harrison works hard to restrain his own sympathetic reaction. But he doesn't give Barry a pass. "Tell me."

"I want you to put your cock in my – " Barry bites his lip again and Harrison's _almost_ willing to let this go, but of course, Barry Allen has to surprise him. 

"I want you to sodomize me." The words rush out of Barry's mouth so quickly that Harrison's not even sure he heard him right. There is, of course, the terrible Biblical connotation to the word, its usage is usually confined to invective, to insult, or on occasion, to clinical discourse. It's not a word that he'd ever expects Barry use, it's both coarse and exotic. But Barry does and Harrison revels in it.

Barry's looking at him, he's worried, perhaps, that he's put Harrison off with that word, that he's disgusted him. Harrison strokes Barry's thigh, his cock, he teases his balls, he even toys with the bright red band, and then he smiles. "It will truly be my pleasure, Mr. Allen."

Barry relaxes in relief. Harrison doesn't need to give him explicit instructions on what to do – Barry might be a virgin in this particular act, but he's certainly not ignorant. Harrison holds his cock as Barry positions himself.

Harrison, however, cannot resist giving direction. "Hold yourself open – that will make this easier."

Barry, of course, complies. The initial penetration is difficult – as Harrison expected. The boy is truly untried and despite his careful preparation, still tight.

But he's not giving up and even better, Barry's erection doesn't flag. Harrison wonders how much of this is Barry's actual enjoyment or the gold dust he's inhaled.

For his part, this desire is honest. He's wanted Barry Allen since the boy woke up and showed his worth. The first time Barry looked at him as if he held all of the answers in the universe.

It's a heady feeling to be the focus of such adoration. Oh, he's been worshipped before – too many times to count – but never by anyone who is so worthy, so _admirable_. Harrison – Eobard – thinks of his end game, all of his plans, and he watches Barry Allen slowly sink down on his cock. 

He could let everything go. Forget about the future, forget all his plans. He could stay _here_ and build a life with Barry Allen, with the Flash of the twenty-first century. He could have _this_ every night. Every day. He could have Barry every way he wanted, he could teach him what it truly means to be a speedster, the full range of his powers.

Barry rises and falls, his face wears an expression of purest bliss. And he's vibrating again.

Harrison stops planning, stops worrying, stops _thinking_ and lets himself go. It's a dangerous thing to do – to give into the pleasure, to loosen the reins of his control. Barry rides him and Harrison's heart fills with all of the joy he's denied himself for fifteen years.

He can keep still, but he needs to touch Barry, he needs skin. He needs to feel Barry against him, all of him. Harrison reaches out and pulls Barry close. He wraps his arms around Barry and buries his face in his neck. In this new position, Barry can't rise and fall so easily, but they manage as Barry rocks back and forth. Harrison can hear a touch of true distress in Barry's vocalizations. The cock ring is keeping him hard, yes – but it's also keeping him from the completion he deserves.

It takes some effort, but Harrison gets a hand between them and gets the ring off Barry. In gratitude, Barry mouths at his neck, whispering his pleasure before biting Harrison's ear. Once again, Harrison takes too much pleasure in that tiny bit of pain. It's all he can do not to flip Barry over and take control. 

Instead, he brings Barry's face to his and fucks his mouth with his tongue as his cock fucks Barry's ass.

Barry manages to hold out for far too long but he does climax, his semen almost scalding hot against Harrison's belly. His ass clamps down and it's too much. Harrison has one hand threaded through Barry's sweat-soaked hair and the other on his cheek. He tears his mouth away and resets it against Barry's neck, just under his ear. He has to move, but he has to do something to distract Barry and as he fucks his hips up – just once – he bites down, almost hard enough to break the skin and Barry screams.

Barry collapses against him and Harrison enjoys the closeness. But even as he feels Barry's heart racing, Harrison can feel the effects of the gold dust wearing off as his judgment returns.

He's not sure what this interlude is going to do to the timeline, but with Barry cradled against him, he's not all that sure he care.

Harrison strokes Barry's neck, his back, one hand sweeping down the boy's spine to his hips. Barry's still vibrating, but it's more post-orgasmic aftershocks than the need for more of what they've just done.

All too soon, the shivering stops and Barry begins recovering. Harrison is filled with regret for that. He's sure he knows what will come next – Barry will be awkward and embarrassed, he won't be able to meet Harrison's eyes. He'll make excuses, grab his clothes and disappear. 

Come Monday, Barry will convince himself that this didn't really happen – after all, his body and the marks that Harrison's left on it will have healed – and he'll do his best to pretend that everything is normal.

Harrison finds himself almost unreasonably angry at that. He wants to break something. Someone. 

"Mmm, Harrison?"

"Yes, Mr. Allen?"

Barry smiles into Harrison's neck. "Keep on calling me that and we might just have to start round two."

Harrison blinks.

"I should get off you. You must be uncomfortable."

"Hmmm, it's okay." He could make some excuse about not feeling much, he is, after all, supposed to be a paraplegic. 

Barry gets off him anyway, and the disconnection of their bodies is different sort of pleasure. 

Barry doesn't get out of bed, he doesn't grab his clothes and make awkward excuses. He doesn't leave.

Instead, he snuggles against Harrison's torso and traces his fingers through the sticky lines of his own come. He's quiet and his breathing is deep and even, and if it wasn't for his moving fingers, Harrison would think that Barry's asleep.

He strokes Barry's hair, taking full advantage of this unexpected closeness.

"Mmmm." Barry actually purrs at the caress. "Been thinking – now that I can think again."

Harrison asks cautiously, "About what?"

"That meta. The one that dosed us."

"Ah." Harrison shouldn't be surprised at the turn of Barry's thoughts. "I wonder what Cisco would call her – Sex Pollinator?"

Barry disagrees with him, "I don't think it was sex pollen she was hitting us with."

"No?" Harrison's surprised. He recalls the two women who'd started kissing and caressing each other in the middle of the plaza and mentions it to Barry.

"I saw them too, but they were the only people who were doing that. There were a lot of people in Watkins Plaza this afternoon – hundreds, probably. It didn't become a mass orgy."

Now that he can reason beyond the immediate needs of his body, he has to agree and easily falls back into scientist mode. "So, what are your conclusions?"

"I think it was happiness pollen. That's what the stuff was. It lowered our inhibitions. Gave us the freedom to go after what we really wanted."

Harrison blinks, he hadn't thought of that.

And Barry, the ever-delighting nerd, adds, "It's like that episode in classic Star Trek."

Harrison can't stifle a laugh. "I think I know the one you're talking about."

Barry falls back into silence and Harrison's not sure what to say. He doesn't want to do anything to break the moment.

"Harrison?"

"Yes?" 

"Can I stay?"

Happiness is a rip tide that floods through Harrison. It's a threat to all of his plans, but he can't fight against it. He shifts carefully against the mattress so they are face to face, and he presses a gentle kiss against Barry's temple. "Of course you can." He pauses and takes a reckless step forward. "I don't want you to go anywhere."

"Mmm, good." Barry yawns and snuggles against him. "You know something?" 

Harrison can't begin to construct an answer – he has no idea where this conversation is going. So he takes refuge in a light quip. "I know many things, Barry."

"Yes, you do." Barry kisses Harrison's shoulder. 

"Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to guess?" Harrison combs his fingers through Barry's hair, and once again Barry purrs his delight.

"No, you don't have to guess. I'll tell you." But Barry doesn't say anything. Instead, he sighs and settles closer.

"Barry?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you going to tell me what I should know?"

"Yes." And yet, Barry still doesn't say anything. Harrison figures it will keep. The boy is too still blissed out, and frankly, Harrison is, too. So he just appreciates this moment.

Minutes pass and just as Harrison thinks that Barry's fallen asleep, Barry says, "I'm glad Cisco asked Caitlin to go with him."

Harrison's not sure what prompted this non sequitur. "Sorry?"

Barry clarifies, "This morning, Cisco asked Caitlin to go with him to his nonna's birthday lunch."

Harrison muses with a carefully measured dose of concern, "And you were a little glum that Cisco didn't chose to ask you."

"But I'm not. Not anymore. Because then I wouldn't have had this. With you." Barry kisses him again.

Harrison might end up regretting what he asks next, but he asks it anyway. "You wouldn't have preferred to be with Cisco?" He takes a deep breath, "With … Ms. West?"

Barry lifts himself up on one elbow and smiles at Harrison. It's sweet and a little tentative, but it's perfect, too. "No. I think that if I was with Cisco or even with Iris when I got dosed with that stuff, I still would have run to you. I would have wanted to share this with you. To make you as happy as you make me." 

Harrison – and Eobard – can feel fifteen years of carefully laid plans come crashing down as the tide called Barry Allen completely undermines the foundations. Someone, somewhere, is laughing at him.

Before settling back down, Barry adds, with a devastating and ruthless lack of guile, "I would always choose you."

__

FIN


End file.
